


Housewarming

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, marginally TWT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick is Batman, Damian is Robin, Tim is pissed, and no one signed up for the fatherhood gig, so WTF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Housewarming

**Author's Note:**

> Fanbingo square: “What do you mean, we’re related?” and also belatedly for Lily’s birthday.

Dick does it for Bruce, first and foremost. Bruce is why he suffers the insubordination, the crankiness, the cockiness, the — the _Damian-ness_. More than once, he’s thought about cutting the kid’s strings and setting him loose. But then he thinks of Jason, or Tim, or Cass, or Steph — or himself. Cold though he seemed, unreachable though he was, Bruce tried to do right by his charges, in his own way. It’s why most of them are alive today, and why the Batcave needs a dorm. Bruce always wanted the best for them — even if, sometimes, he went about it in the most asinine way possible.

So when Damian shows up for “morning” training two hours late, Dick has been waiting. Not patiently — oh, no, not patiently — but he has been waiting. Figured he’d try giving the kid some space; let him warm up to the idea that Bruce isn’t here right now, and the best way to live up to his father’s expectations is to listen to his big brother. Acting like a drill sergeant certainly hadn’t helped; not only did Damian not respect him, but now he was clearly testing the limits of Dick’s patience.

So when Damian shows up — in costume, at least — he makes quite an entrance. He leaps from the top of the stairs, backflips a couple of times, and lands with his arms folded. The smug superiority on the brat’s face gets on what may possibly be Dick’s last nerve. Well, the superiority and the hood.

“We’ve talked about the hood,” he says.

Damian — _Robin_ — plants his fists on his hips and lifts his chin, another earmark of the juvenile defiance that has been going on for far too long. “Your concerns about the hood are valid for the unskilled.”

“You are unskilled.” He doesn’t elaborate. That’s kind of petty, and sort of too old-kung-fu-mentor, but Dick’s at his wit’s end and he’ll take any edge he can get.

“Tt,” Damian retorts, somehow managing to condense all the arrogance and detachment, everything that’s wrong with the youth of today into a single sound. Was Jason ever like this? Was _Dick_ ever like this?

He decides to ignore it, to not rise to the bait. “We’re going to work on your reflexes today.” He’s still working on an appropriate training regimen for the new Robin. Damian’s a natural, but between his upbringing and their divided household, there hasn’t been time to do much more than keep the pecking order intact.

“My reflexes don’t need pointless busywork,” Damian argues.

“Then you won’t have any trouble proving that.”

They stare each other down for a few moments. Eventually Damian tosses his head, spins on his heel and heads for the floor. “Fine, whatever, _Dickhead._ ”

“Oh, great. That’s great. Tell you what, I’m gonna put that _right up here_ with the Ones I’ve Never Heard Before.”

It’s a slip-up: from Batman to Nightwing, from mentor to cohort. It does something, though, because Damian gives him a weird look over his shoulder.

***

Tim hasn’t exactly been the greatest brother in the world lately.

“Of _course_ he hates you. You’re trying to be his father so soon after — anyway,” he slumps further into the couch, “I can’t believe his costume has a hood.”

“I know, right?” Dick slurps cold coffee and tries to work out how he’s going to keep this family together.

“We’re doing okay, mostly,” Tim offers, if a little begrudgingly. “Even though you let a little pissant like Damian be Robin, which is kind of—”

“Tim, please. Not now, okay?”

His younger brother makes some noise that could mean anything, but at least he drops the subject. Mostly. “He can’t have my room.”

“ _Tim._ ”

“He can’t!”

***

Dick thinks he’s been tried everything — too hard, too little, too lax, too militant — and while he wants to think he’s finally found a method that works, he knows that a big contender in this fight is simply time. _Time heals all wounds,_ he thinks. _Or wounds all heels. Could go either way._ He tells Tim that joke later; it doesn’t go over well. Tough room.

The point is, time has the power to move things along in a way nothing else does. It’s fluid, not static, and you can adapt without thinking, without realizing, until one day things just _are._ This turns out to be one of those things.

Dick can’t sleep, so he’s making grilled cheese. Some cravings can’t be ignored — and he can eat three or four of these things. There’s something so deliciously naughty about butter-fried, melted cheese sandwiches that — “Hey, Tim,” he says around a mouthful.

In a non-descript white shirt and red pajama bottoms, Tim looks like any other teenager with bed-head who stays up all night on the Internet and sleeps too late. He then proceeds to act like one, padding to the cupboard to grab a plate, and then set it down expectantly next to the stove. He leans on the counter, chin propped on his fist, and Dick shrugs one shoulder and makes another sandwich.

He’s making seconds when Damian shows up, looking too small, too fussy, and too young. He’s still yawning, rubbing at his eyes, and Tim hands him a plate even as Dick starts buttering more bread.

They stand at the counter, munching in silence — a keen moment of peace.

It’s a start.

 

~End.


End file.
